If the certainty of having your collar felt, metaphorically of course, by the local police every few days is not enough to put you off walking the length of Britain naked, then the February wind blowing off the Pentland Firth should at least be a deterrent. So, as the Naked Rambler and his girlfriend finally arrived at the northernmost tip of Scotland yesterday, their first thoughts turned to clothes.

"Quick, get them on," said Stephen Gough to his partner, Melanie Roberts. It is a phrase that has been muttered, without success, by a good many people since the pair set out in their birthday suits from Land's End last June. The lady in the shop in Shropshire where they stopped to buy piccalilli said it. The kirk minister affronted at their flesh said it. The local magistrates said it. The prison governor said it. But where man failed, only nature could prevail.

"You get used to the cold when you're walking about, but the minute you stop that's when it hits," said Mr Gough, reaching for a pair of green Y-fronts.

Before they dressed, there was a little welcome party of locals waiting at John O'Groats with cameras and mobile phones to record the end of the 874-mile naked walk. Bobbie, a man in his 70s from the village of Halkirk, near Thurso, had driven down especially. "It's not him I've come to see, it's the girlfriend; I'm a bachelor so I've not seen as much as a married man," he said unabashed. "It's a bit of fun. There's not much else to brighten the winter here."

The children in the back of the Ford Escort obviously thought it was a bit of fun too, and they cheered at the funny-looking naked adults. Andrew perhaps took it too far outside the Seaview hotel. "I got sprayed all over with champagne stuff," said Ms Roberts. "It was really cold and now I'm all sticky."

Stickiness, though, is one of the more minor problems the naked ramblers have had to contend with these last nine months. Clothed, they reckon they could have completed the walk in 40 days, covering 20-odd miles a day. Naked, a few problems with the law lengthened the expedition. Mr Gough was arrested nine times; Ms Roberts five. The first time was in the Shropshire town of Wem, where they bought the piccalilli.

"I've never been in trouble with the police before and I found the first night in the cells quite frightening," said Ms Roberts, who, when clothed, spends her time cutting hair in Bournemouth. "I still don't see what all the fuss is about. My body is nothing to be ashamed about, although I don't really like my thighs and bum."

In all, Mr Gough, a former royal marine, has spent four months in jail for causing offence with his naked ramble. "What's the point, why do it? Why do anything?" he said. "I want to show people that nakedness is nothing to be ashamed about and they should not pass their shame on to their kids. But why walk to John O'Groats? God knows."

His perplexity over his destination is not difficult to understand. In the dead of winter John O'Groats has all the charm of a labour camp. The hotel is boarded up and Caithness Candles' doors are closed. A few hardy souls jump from their cars for the obligatory photograph beside the village sign then promptly jump back in and speed off. Even the sheep look unimpressed. Still, the locals have been nice.

"We've had people taking us in for the night, giving us breakfast, being really kind, most people have been really supportive," said Mr Gough. The constant offers of tea, though, were a bit of a problem. "It's really nice of people but if you keep stopping you start seizing up."

The offer of coffee at the Crofter's Kitchen is not, however, refused. Finally clothed, Mr Gough says he would probably do it again. Ms Roberts looks over. "Definitely", she says. "But somewhere a bit warmer."